The morning fog had barely lifted when the alert came in—an unknown traveler at Emberleaf's southern checkpoint, unarmed but marked.

Kael arrived within minutes.

The guards stood tense at the outer gate, hands resting near hilts, eyes wary. In front of them, a man knelt—his cloak frayed, boots cracked, and a travel pack that looked like it had crossed a continent slumped at his side. He bore the look of someone who hadn't slept in days, with soot-streaked cheeks and a limp in one leg.

What caught Kael's eye, though, was the half-burned insignia sewn onto the man's outer collar: a silver triangle overlaid with a coiled lion—Virelion's mark, singed but recognizable.

The man looked up as Kael approached. His voice was hoarse but clear.

"Kael Drayke… the Scourge of Wrath. I came seeking sanctuary."

Kael's tone was neutral. "Most people from Pride don't kneel to Wrath."

"I'm no longer of Pride," the man said. "I escaped it."

He reached into his pack—slowly, cautiously—and pulled out a scroll case wrapped in waxed cloth. "This was issued five weeks ago by Virelion's Inner Court. I stole it before they could classify it. I thought… you'd want to see how they describe you."

Kael took the scroll and broke the cracked seal.

Rimuru appeared over his shoulder in a ripple of gold and blue. "Ooooh. Classified."

He unrolled the parchment. In elegant ink, surrounded by tight runic protections, was a line of cold decree:

"Kael Drayke, entity of dangerous influence and politically impure origin, is hereby marked as a destabilizing threat. All ties to Wrath's internal disruption are to be monitored and, if possible, extinguished at source."

Kael's fingers tightened.

"They're labeling me preemptively," he muttered. "Before I've even moved."

Rimuru leaned in, sniffed the ink. "Definitely real. This smells like bureaucratic arrogance. The strongest type."

The man bowed lower. "My name is Rhalin of Corcrest. I helped design their upper wards before they purged the urban planners. My family didn't make it out. I only survived because I escaped through the aqueduct routes. Please… I know what they're planning."

Kael looked him over. The man had burns on his forearms, half-healed. A pride emblem had been crudely slashed off his travel satchel.

"Why come here?" Kael asked.

"Because you're the only one who scares them."

There was no fanfare. No guards shouted or raised their spears. But everyone around them heard those words—and held their breath.

Kael gave a small nod.

"Then stay. But no more kneeling."

He turned to his guards. "Get him clean clothes, food, and a cot. Quietly."

Then to Rimuru: "Call Nana and Great Sage. I want a map of every Pride city within reach by nightfall."

Rhalin didn't rise for several seconds, still trembling.

But Kael didn't look back.

He was already walking toward the war tower.

The war tower stood at the eastern edge of Emberleaf, newly built but already pulsing with mana-laced wards and protective sigils. As the sun dipped behind the hills, the windows dimmed to a cool amber, reacting to the shift in ambient light.

Kael stood at the central scrying dais, cloak tossed to one side, eyes locked on the floating mana field above the stone table. Threads of magic—thin, silver, and trembling—stretched outward like a spiderweb into the air. Each thread pointed in a direction beyond Emberleaf's borders. Some glowed faintly blue. One glowed red.

Rimuru floated beside him, casting gentle pulses of light through the threads like sonar.

"This one again," she said, tilting slightly toward the red strand. "Same origin point. Virelion's northeast quarter. Consistent pressure, high mana signature."

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Great Sage:

"Confirmed. Wide-range scrying net. Intent: persistent surveillance. Frequency: every six hours. Purpose: reconfirmation of target stability."

Kael scowled. "So they're keeping tabs. They knew the report might not reach them."

He gestured, and the projection shifted—thread lines becoming a shimmering map of the western Superbia border. Red marks dotted the hills like bruises.

"This isn't just one scryer," Kael said. "They've got a network."

"Five nodes at minimum," Rimuru added. "Each one re-casting from a different location. They're rotating channels like clockwork."

Kael reached out and tapped one of the red dots. It shimmered, then expanded into a blurred image—outlines of a tower, an etched stone plate, and what looked like a lion's fang carved into the side.

"A relay point," Kael murmured.

Great Sage:

"Correct. Primary nexus located beneath the city of Virelion. Unshielded moment of vulnerability in 3 days, 7 hours, 22 minutes during mana shift."

Kael's eyes narrowed.

"That's our window."

He turned toward the central boardroom where Nana and the strategy team were beginning to assemble.

"Get me that time shift breakdown. I want to know what kind of response they'll mount if we disrupt one relay. And I want options—surgical, silent, and loud."

Rimuru rotated slowly in the air. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I want them to flinch first," Kael said. "If they see us as a threat, it's time they learn what that means."

He tapped the relay point one last time, and it shimmered away.

"Send a runner to Rhalin. Ask if he can draw Virelion's internal scrying ring from memory. If he can…"

He didn't finish the sentence.

He didn't need to.

Because Emberleaf wasn't just defending anymore. It was preparing to strike.

Rhalin stood at the edge of a wide oak table, its surface cleared except for an unfurled length of parchment, several inkpots, and a glowing crystal orb that flickered softly with Rimuru's ambient mana. He held the stylus with a steady but calloused grip—his knuckles white, his eyes trained forward as if peering through memories that still burned.

Kael sat across from him, arms folded, saying nothing.

Nana stood nearby with her arms crossed, expression unreadable, while Rimuru slowly orbited overhead like a lazy moon, casting dim light in circular pulses.

Rhalin dipped the stylus in ink and began to draw.

"The city of Virelion was designed on a tiered curve," he murmured. "Three concentric walls, each higher than the last, each layered with mana-sensing wards. They called it the Spiral Doctrine."

His hand moved with the grace of experience, sketching curves, gates, and towers with speed that bordered on muscle memory. The outer ring took shape—then the roads, then the high wardline etched around the middle dome.

"There," he said. "That's the eastern elevation—where most of the relay lines pulse out. Hidden inside the aqueduct tower beneath the public fountain. No one questions water systems."

Kael leaned forward. "What's beneath it?"

"Old crystal storage. Pre-purification era. That's where they house the inner scrying core now. Has its own defense node. It's cloaked—layers of pride magic, silence veils, one-time alarms. But…"

He glanced up, face hollow with fatigue.

"…I helped design the inner curve. I know where they cheated."

He marked a small triangle along one of the etched lines. "This here? They bypassed the power node conduit. If you overcharge it with compressed flame mana…"

Great Sage:

"Overload probability: 87%. Chain reaction potential: total collapse of external scrying ring."

Kael raised an eyebrow. "And the damage?"

"Localized. It'll fry their surveillance, maybe knock out a few wards. But no civilians get hurt unless they rush in blind."

"Good," Kael said. "We won't start a war if we don't have to. Just a warning."

Rimuru pulsed once in agreement. "Boom without the doom. I like it."

Nana spoke at last. "What's the risk to you, Rhalin? If we strike, won't they know it came from you?"

Rhalin paused.

"…They already think I'm dead."

Kael leaned back, silent for a long breath. Then he nodded once.

"Then let's make sure they keep thinking that. Nana—prep the strike team. I want a ghost unit. In and out, no flare, no trace. Just a ghost that burns their arrogance to the ground."

The room shifted, strategy coming alive as the ink on the parchment dried. A city of Pride had marked Kael as a threat.

Now, Emberleaf had marked them back.

The chamber was quiet, lit only by a single flame hovering above a rune-etched bowl. Kael stood alone, shoulders square, cloak draped loosely over his frame. The walls around him shimmered faintly with containment spells—layered by Nana, Rimuru, and the Great Sage. This was a ritual chamber, but tonight, no ritual was planned.

Only reflection.

Kael stepped forward and looked into the flame.

At first, it flickered as normal—red-orange, dancing slightly in the still air. Then the edges deepened, shading toward blue, then violet. Finally, the surface of the fire stilled, like the surface of a pond. It became a mirror.

And in that mirror, Kael saw himself—eyes calm, but not cold. Strong, but not cruel.

Then the flame-image shifted.

He saw a city—gleaming towers, spiraled roads, magic lights glowing like stars in cages. Virelion.

He saw the Pride nobles toasting, unaware. He saw scrying mirrors whispering lies.

He saw a name carved in red: Kael Drayke Status: Threat to the Doctrine Recommendation: Observe & Isolate. Contain if possible. Cleanse if necessary.

Kael clenched a fist.

Great Sage:

"The vision is not illusionary. Virelion's court is active. Four Councilors have reviewed the decree."

Kael didn't blink. "Show me the fourth."

The mirror-fire swirled again. A tall man, cloaked in violet and bone-white silk, appeared. His eyes glowed faintly—enhanced by rune lenses—and his hand hovered over a chessboard made of glass and obsidian. He moved a piece.

Not a knight. Not a queen.

A flame.

Kael narrowed his gaze.

"Bring me his name," he said.

Great Sage: "High Minister Valthorne. Architect of Doctrine Culling."

Rimuru's glow slowly approached behind him, silent for once.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

Kael nodded. "I am."

"Even knowing they'd erase you for the idea of you?"

"That's why we'll make the idea louder."

He waved his hand, extinguishing the mirror-flame.

Then turned away.

Tomorrow, they would strike not with fire—but with proof. With a single burn line through Virelion's flawless mirror.

And the world would feel the crack.

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